These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things
by BonGarland
Summary: In which Loki tries to help a sick Darcy sleep, and a Christmas playlist does not improve the situation. Tasertricks holiday shenanigans ensue.


**Howdy, guys. Woven's next chapter is proving difficult, as I've already scrapped thousands of words that I _had _written...Anyways, here is a little holiday jaunt as a Christmas gift to the Tasertricks fandom! Enjoy!**

* * *

"That isn't a creepy story to tell your kids _at all_," Darcy Lewis muttered with a scowl, heaving shut a massive tome of Slavic fairytales on the page dedicated to Krampus. Adorned with a lengthy description of him and his habits, the words were accompanied by a large, detailed, and _spooky _illustration of the dark Santa-like figure tossing little children from a sack into a dark river. No thanks, she would try to stay on the good list this year. Shoving the heavy book to the side, where it joined a miniature graveyard of her other discarded reading material, she grabbed her dwindling box of tissues from another crevice in the bedspread.

It was three days until Christmas, and she was in bed with a massive cold and fever, the bed covers barely visible for a sea of used tissues. Surrounded by half-drank mugs of now-chilled tea, herbal cough drops, and discarded bottles of water, she was bored and miserable. Loki had tried to be helpful, bringing her books from his massive library and heaping them on the nightstand for her to peruse, concocting herbal remedy after herbal remedy for her to try. When she'd asked if he could just magic her cold away, he'd frantically shaken his head, insisting the healing department of his magic was inconsistent at best, and assured her she'd probably end up turned into a toad or something instead.

She'd take the reddened nose and aching joints instead, thank you very much, and had simply held up her mug for a refill of steaming peppermint tea.

Sniffling miserably, she now flopped onto her side beneath the covers, trying to sleep, but rest was elusive. Propping herself up on an elbow, she called for Loki, hating her scratchy, feeble tone. She'd always despised getting sick, the wasting of time spent wallowing in bed, alone for the most part. If she was gonna hang out in bed, she wanted it to be on _her _terms, with a pint of ice cream, or some green-eyed, dark-haired company.

Her trickster appeared with a small flash of green light, startling her; her jerk of fright sent a wave of used tissue cascading over the edge of the bed and across his booted feet, and Darcy clamped her eyes shut, waiting for a backlash of anger. A moment passed, and one eye cracked open warily, the other following when no danger appeared from the god, who shockingly didn't seem to mind the refuse of illness now littering the floorboards.

Loki's arms were folded across his chest, his trench coat abandoned for a simple leather tunic, head cocked to the side as he appraised her position. "Darcy?"

"Uhh, I- _aaachooo_!" She was cut off with a sneeze that sent her reeling backwards, banging into the headboard. Rubbing at the back of her skull, she grimaced at him, speaking with the nasally tones of the congested. "Can you see if there's any Nyquil in the medicine cabinet?" It was a futile question, really, because he swirled his index finger in the air once, and the requested bottle appeared in the air in front of her. Swiping the proffered relief, she settled back into the covers, pausing only to set her iPod to play a Christmas playlist from its position on a dock at her bedside. "I'm gonna go to sleep, 'kay?"

Loki's expression was clouded with concern, his mouth quirking to one side before he stepped forward, stroking a refreshingly-cool hand down the length of her face. "Alright, rest well. I will check on you later."

She smiled weakly, tilting her face to press a kiss to his lingering wrist. "'Nightttt…"

He was gone with another stoke of fingers and glimmer of light, and Darcy uncapped the Nyquil eagerly, scrutinizing the label before shrugging and tossing back probably thrice the recommended dosage for someone of her age and size. It was cherry-flavored, her preference, but even that was nasty, going down like a congealed shot of black cherry whiskey, something she'd tried at a party a few weeks ago. Resisting the urge to gag, she recapped the bottle, grabbing a glass of water and chugging it to rid her mouth of the medicinal bitterness.

Settling back into bed, the Nyquil bottle tucked in the crook of her arm like a beloved pet, she burrowed her face into her pillow with a contented sigh, mouthing along with the lyrics to "My Favorite Things". Absentmindedly, she ticked off a mental list of some of her favorite things of the Christmas season. Throwing snowballs from the first snowfall at Loki, toy shop storefronts, Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, Loki's reindeer helmet that always made her giggle at the mere thought of, candy canes, watching a Nutcracker play when she had a chance…She drifted off quickly under the influence of the medicine, slipping quickly into a deep sleep.

* * *

"Wowza." If she'd known she could concoct such elaborate dreams, maybe she _would _idle in bed more often. Odd, though, that she was conscious of the fact this was a dream. But really, in what sort of world would a town's main street be composed of alternating gingerbread buildings and structures that looked built of candy canes? Nah, this had to be a dream, not like that time Loki had promised to bring her to Denmark on a vacation full of Viking relics, which she was eager to see, and ended up miscalculating, somehow getting them stuck on Svartalfheim, another realm entirely. _That_ was not an experience she cared to repeat.

Blinking, she examined the pavement she stood on. It looked like ice, but with none of the slipperiness she would have expected; it was more like glass. She was in the very middle of the road, looking down the divide between two sides of a street jam-packed with shops. It looked like the little faux-Christmas villages that were often set up in December, elven bakeries and Santa's workshop all cobbled together with cheap plywood for a reason to charge kids admission to the north pole. But this…This looked legitimate, fully established, if a bit of a ghost town. She was the only being in sight, and tentatively stepped forward. When the surface beneath her didn't crack under her weight, she continued on, weaving from side to side across the road and looking for signs of life in the buildings.

A toy shop appeared on her left, the window full of everything she'd expect and more; little monkeys that clapped cymbals together, stuffed dogs in every color of the rainbow, pretty dolls with perfectly arranged hair. Darcy smiled, heading for that shop and ducking inside with a little jingle of bells hung on the door.

Her smile dropped when she realized no one was inside; the cash register area was bereft of staff, no one walked the aisles of toys, there was no sound besides the toys' actions. And yet…As she stood in the center of the shop, brow furrowed in confusion as to whether or not any of this was real, a robotic toy dog at her feet began to yip mechanically, its tinny noises getting louder and louder, its small tail starting to waggle back and forth.

Darcy blinked down at it, and suddenly the entire row of toy dogs was going off, their yipping rising in an eerie motorized chorus. A noise behind her sent Darcy whipping around, and she looked down to see a large group of the clapping monkeys approaching on their jerky little feet.

"Uhhh-" She stepped backwards, her foot hitting something. Yelping, she pivoted again to see the robotic dogs off their shelf, and gathered around her in a semi-circle. With a little shriek, Darcy was off, dashing for the door as quickly as she could among the obstacle course of playthings. An old metal slinky fell across her path, seemingly of its own accord, and her feet were almost ensnared by the metal material. Jumping over it at the last second, she regained her feet in time to hear a snarl from the back of the shop.

Hazarding one last glance behind her, Darcy spotted something vaguely humanoid, looking to be made of shadows, stalking in her direction. The sea of menacing toys parted to give it a pathway, and she was not going to wait around to meet it. Reaching the front door, which suddenly didn't want to open, she wrenched at it with all her might, kicking futilely at the hinges. A crash sounded right behind her, and Darcy's hair whipped into her face as she turned to look, spotting the dark creature mere feet behind her, kicking a crate out of its way. With a frustrated scream, Darcy tried the door one more time, sobbing with relief when it gave way and she was ejected into the street, the door somehow slamming itself shut.

She landed on her butt, scraping her hands on the ground as she did so, wincing. The entire street was still as silent as before, and Darcy shot a wary glance around, gingerly rising from her spot on the road.

"H-hello?" She ventured, knowing she was a cliché in a horror movie but not knowing what else to do. Was it a dream? Had she been teleported somewhere in her sleep? She still had no idea, but when her knee gave a twinge of protest as she stood, something clicked. Couldn't you not feel pain in a dream? Her blood chilling, Darcy started to walk briskly along the road, keeping to the middle of the faux-ice pavement in lieu of passing closer by the shops full of potentially-murderous toys and monsters.

She'd made it to a curve in the road when something suddenly hit her back, hard. With a sudden burst of inspiration, she glanced down. Surely she'd be properly attired if this was not a dream…Nope, she was in the loose purple lounge pants, tight black tank top, and loose gray sweater she'd been recuperating in. Somehow, she had sneakers on, too. The gray sweater was not thick enough to mask the cold sensation of whatever had impacted against her back, although she hadn't noticed the cold before. Her shoulders tensed. Murmuring some unintelligible prayer, she turned on the spot, seeing a snowball fall to the ground, spent.

Just as she bent to examine it, another came flying out of nowhere, narrowly missing her head as she crouched. With a whimper of fright, Darcy reached up a hand to straighten her glasses on her face, eyes flitting across the scene in front of her to spot the culprit. When none appeared, she swallowed, hands fumbling across her person in search of anything that might make an improvised weapon. She came up with a balled-up tissue and a travel brochure for Denmark. Paper-cutting her dreamscape enemies to death, how very Darcy Lewis. She had no time to dwell on the disappointment, because another snowball abruptly pummeled into the ground an inch from her right foot. Followed by another, and another, in rapidly increasing succession. Darcy shrieked, ducking to the side and making it to the sort of boardwalk that lined the street.

A barrage of snowballs followed her every move, and a particularly icy one hit her on the elbow, eliciting a screech of pain. She cradled that arm, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do. Her eyes traveled to a mound of snow to her right, gathered against a railing by wind or something. Wrapping the overlong sleeves of her sweater over each hand, she composed her own hefty snowball, seeing no other alternative. Then she plotted a course across the road, intending to make for a structure that looked like stables. Maniacal toys didn't lurk in stables, right?

As soon as she stepped into the road, the snowballs started up again, and she flung her own missile at an area that looked like their source, hoping it would deter for a moment or two. Indeed, the onslaught ceased, and she made it to the stables with little trouble, flinging herself inside and bolting the wooden door with a plank she found. Backing away from the door, she started to explore the building, looking into each stall. There were no horses, and she was disappointed. She'd known how to ride since she was a child, and even if this was some psychotic break-induced dream world, a little familiarity would be nice. And a ride.

A huffing noise reached her eyes, and Darcy smiled, rounding a corner of the building, hoping to find a horse at last. Instead, she faced head-on a large reindeer, ironically enough, with some sort of red clown's nose on the end of its muzzle.

"What the hell?!" She gaped, clumsily taking a step back, and the reindeer snorted again, pawing anxiously at the ground. It looked ready to charge, and Darcy swallowed thickly, raising a placating hand. "H-heyyy, buddy, not gonna hurt you. I…" She cut off as it lunged towards her like a panther, and as she ran, Darcy found herself noting the inconsistencies in its behavior. Then again, psychotic break-induced dream world. No laws of nature, apparently, or physics, for that matter.

The ramming of antlers into wood behind her spurred her on, and Darcy increased her pace, only to find herself at the other end of the building and penned in. The only opening in sight was some sort of hayloft above her, and she groaned loudly, hopping in one place with anxiety. "Come onnn!"

Something glinted in the corner of her vision, and she almost laughed aloud at the convenience of a tall ladder against a far wall. Darting to it just as the reindeer appeared, she shoved it against the edge of the stables, hoping it would hold and get her to the second floor.

Scrambling up a ladder with hands still numb from a cold snowball, and fear, was difficult even if one was wearing hiking boots and jeans, she'd imagine, but in pajama pants and slippery-soled sneakers, she had no idea how she was doing it. With three rungs to go, the ladder suddenly shuddered under an impact, and Darcy gasped, clinging desperately to the edge and risking a glance downward. The Cujo-Rudolph hybrid had its antlers jammed in the lower rungs of the ladder, and as it tried to extract itself, the ladder moved away from the wood supporting its position. Darcy's scream could have woken the dead, and she lunged, grappling for the edge of the hayloft and hanging on for dear life.

There was a banging sound as the ladder fell to the ground, and Darcy started muttering supplication after supplication, finally levering herself into the hayloft with a heave. Peeking cautiously over the edge, she saw the rabid reindeer standing stock-still, staring _right at her_. Legitimate eye contact and heavy breathing and everything. Squeaking, she scuttled backwards, making for the open loft window she'd spotted earlier. There was a sort of faux-sunshine outside, glinting off the hay surrounding her, and Darcy stuck her head out the window with relish, seeking an escape route.

That was when she noticed the rat people. Dressed in the costumes of a particular Nutcracker production she'd seen when she was little, was a crowd of…beings. The overlarge, dramatic rat masks that had so frightened nine year-old Darcy now concealed the faces, or perhaps they _were _the faces, of a group of humanoid rats congregating below her in the road. The blank, painted eyes were still somehow locked on her face as she stared at them, horrified, and they began to point frantically, squeaking noises sounding from them. They were carrying _pitchforks_.

Darcy retreated from the window with a hand across her eyes, flopping to the side and pressing her back against the wall of the stable loft. Drawing her knees up to her chin, she closed her eyes, trying to think, her lips incessantly forming pleas for help. She could feel pain, but this world seemed somehow hand-crafted for her, based on her memories and tastes, twisting them into some macabre sideshow whose aim was apparently to kill her.

A clomping sound from the open room beneath her rattled the boards under her feet, and Darcy uncovered her eyes slowly, dreading what could have found its way in the building or up the ladder. Inching on her hands and knees towards the edge of her level, she took a quick look just as the reindeer charged out of sight, after some new target apparently.

"_Darcy_." The voice was a hushed whisper, but she recognized that accent and pronunciation of her name even in Darcy Dreamworld. Craning over the edge of the hayloft, she spotted none other than Loki, standing below her. He was in full Asgardian regalia, a rarer and rarer occurrence these days, complete with Rudolph helmet. He either meant business, or was also imaginary. As she watched, he darted a glance at the direction the reindeer had gone, and quickly hefted the ladder, setting it at a convenient spot for her to climb down and gesturing for her.

Her eyes narrowed, and she appraised his appearance as best she could from the distance. "Are you a figment of my imagination come to kill me, too? How do I know it's you? If I ask you anything to verify your identity, what if my apparently murderous subconscious just replies for you?"

Her mini monologue was apparently very amusing, as Loki cracked a smile and a small chuckle filled the space, cutting off when an angry snort sounded from somewhere within the stables. "Darcy, it is me. We haven't the time – the beast will soon be upon us."

"I'm not leaving my hayloft-turned-panic-room until I know it's Loki for sure," she insisted mulishly, jutting out her bottom lip and sitting back on her heels. She heard a sigh of resignation that did sound distinctly Loki, but still wavered, debating internally. Then he muttered something about her having acted like this the last time they went to Six Flags, and she'd set her heels in and refused to leave until he had gone on the tallest roller coaster with her. Darcy's eyes rose and she nodded, fairly convinced despite herself. Then she noticed a shadow, not hers, creeping across the floorboards from behind her. A whimper escaped her involuntarily, and her fingers scrabbled for purchase against the hay-strewn floor.

Clumsily regaining her feet in the limited space, Darcy turned to face the shadowy creature that had stalked her in the toy shop. It…was Krampus, or the rendition she'd absorbed in the book she had read, at least. Probably nine feet tall, it resembled a gorilla made of shadow, the head topped with horns. Gnashing fangs were visible in its smoky face, and it brandished an axe at this moment, the handle decorated with a candy cane pattern. How quaint.

It snarled and swung its axe, and Darcy leaped back with a cry, the action causing her to lose her balance. With a blood-curdling scream, she toppled backwards over the loft's edge, her eyes just having enough time to clench shut in anticipation of bone-breaking pain and blackness.

Instead, there was a ricocheting impact, the breath knocked from her as she was caught in a pair of arms, resulting in a huff of relief from her savior. Darcy opened her eyes in unison, blue gaze flicking straight to the emerald one that had caught her. "Hi."

"Are you well?" Loki's words were hurried, his worried gaze taking in her entire form before he set her upright, one hand keeping a tight grip on her waist. She had time to nod before another noise jerked her eyes upward, to the spot where she'd fallen. The Krampus creature was peering down at them, head cocked the side in a freaky way, and then a creaky sort of laugh escaped it.

"We must move," Loki breathed, hand moving to hers and tugging her along with him.

"Are you going to explain what's happening?!" Darcy yelled, trying to keep up with his long-legged pace.

"I may have made an error concerning a spell intended to help you sleep better," he admitted, shooting the words back at her as they ran. He sounded embarrassed.

The questioning noise that Darcy emitted in response was hardly eloquent, but the disbelief it carried was crystal clear. "I shall explain when you are safe," he assured her, before pulling her around a corner. Pressing her against the wall, he cupped a pale hand against her mouth, his forehead pressed to hers as he seemed to mutter a spell.

Movement at the corner of Darcy's eye showed her the rabid reindeer, snorting and tossing its head as it appeared at a fork in hallways. It was close enough that it should have spotted them, but she was with the god of mischief and illusion, right? He seemed to have this covered, for the moment, and indeed, the beast moved on a moment later, further down another aisle of stalls.

Loki pressed a quick kiss to her temple apologetically, removing his hand from her mouth and slowly leading her down the corridor they'd found themselves in. This building was apparently much different on the inside than it had appeared from outside, Darcy thought, but she hadn't majored in hallucinatory architecture, so that was nothing to waste time pondering.

At last, a door appeared, with a vibrant green Exit sign above it. It didn't match the décor of the rest of the structure, but again, Darcy shrugged it off. She was clearly nuts, but intact physically, at least.

Loki held an unnecessary finger to his lips – she didn't think she was _that _loud, especially when she knew it was potentially life or death – and flattened himself against the wall beside the door, inching it open. Holding a palm out to Darcy to indicate she should wait, he eased outside. Apparently satisfied with a lack of imminent death waiting on the other side of the door, he popped back inside, letting her lead the way out the door.

* * *

"Can you explain yet?" Darcy's tone was annoyed as they started walking down some sort of back alleyway, skirting the rears of the shopfronts she had traversed earlier. He was quiet for a moment, the only sound their steps.

"You know I can dream-walk, and that it is really myself here, yes?" He asked first, wanting to make sure she wasn't going to trip out from shock or something, probably.

"Yup, I'm all up on that shtick," she muttered, waving a hand dismissively as her sneakers crunched on snow.

"Well, shortly after you fell asleep, I administered what I thought would be a simple sleep aid spell," his tone was somber, his thumb stroking the back of her hand in another apologetic gesture. "But you soon began to toss and turn fitfully, and I could not wake you…So I had no choice but to enter your dreams. I've been wandering here ever since, looking for you, though your pleas alerted me to your exact whereabouts."

She blushed, feeling slightly awkward that prayers had summoned her boyfriend, but brightened again almost instantly. Maybe she could cut down her phone bill, when she woke up.

"Well, I did overdose on Nyquil, I think," she said thoughtfully, as if it were nothing. "Probably interacted badly with the Asgardian sleepytime magic."

Loki grimaced, his hand tightening on hers. "I should never have attempted something like that, with you. It was irresponsible and dangerous."

"Well, now that you're here, the experience sure beats sitting in bed, blowing my nose raw and watching infomercials. It's not often that I get a Halloween haunted house _and _Christmas, all in one go."

His lips twitched in a hint of a smile, and then he tensed, eyes on something ahead of them. Darcy's gaze followed his, to see the mob of rat-people from earlier, gathered in the road.

"You've gotta be _kidding me_-" Darcy whined, before Loki jerked her out of sight and into the shadow of a bakery sporting a sign with a too-happy elf on it.

"I'm not exactly certain how to get you out of this," he began gravely, and panic started to set in. If Loki didn't know what to do, chances were no one would. "Except…Well…" At Darcy's raised eyebrow, he reluctantly continued. "It is customary to wake in dreams where one is falling, is it not? Right before impact-" It was Darcy's turn to clamp a palm across Loki's mouth. "Don't _even_. If you think you're gonna throw me off a cliff or something…"

He jerked free of her hold, frowning deeply. "Alternately…The process through which I dreamwalk is elaborate and can go very, very wrong, damaging the, ah, victim's mind, If I make a mistake. This is already quite different, they are never aware I am there. I am not certain I could simply pull you out with me, Darcy, there is never someone else _with _me."

Darcy placed her hands across Loki's, clenching her chilled fingers as tightly as she could around his. "I trust you with my life. I'd rather not pseudo-die or, I dunno, potentially really-die in my dreams, butchered by a maniacal reject from the Nutcracker play or Santa tryouts."

Loki seemed to tense suddenly, eyes flitting to the side in concentration, and just as he rose from his crouch to address whatever he had sensed, he was flung back by an unseen force. Slamming back against the building, he slid to the ground, dazed, and Darcy was then grabbed, hauled backward with bruising force.

Brought face-to-face again with Krampus, whose axe was MIA at least, Darcy sighed into the scant inches separating them. "If it isn't the Santa of the workshop. Fancy seeing you here." Wondering randomly how the shadowy monster could actually grip _anything_, Darcy kicked out at it blindly, rewarded with a snarl of fury and a tightening of the claws around her shoulders. She kicked it again, harder, and was dropped unceremoniously. Scampering to Loki's side, she put a hand on his face and another on his shoulder. "Loki?"

He blinked, disoriented, emerald eyes finally focusing on her face. "Darcy. _Move_!" He regained his motor skills remarkably fast, Darcy noted, as he fluidly moved to swap places with her, placing himself in front of the creature's reaching claws. The reaching motion turned into a fierce swipe when the monster realized its target had moved, and it swept Loki aside like a fly. He recovered from the blow well, turning his tumble into a controlled somersault, summoning some sort of light to his palm and hurling it at Krampus.

Howling in rage when the blow hit it, Krampus otherwise ignored Loki, focused on Darcy, who backed against the wall, trying to calm herself and think. Death in a dream, or being near it, would wake her up, right? Risking a quick glance at Loki, whose eyes had narrowed at her expression, Darcy made up her mind. She was hilariously skilled at beating herself on the scale of recklessness, time and time again, and this was no exception. Feigning wide-eyed fright, she moved to the side, just as Loki moved to intercept the creature.

Its intentions simply seemed to be to _catch _Darcy herself, but it seemed to not care at all if Loki were damaged, and the beast's claws extended mid-blow as it struck out at him again. Before her plan was fully developed in her own mind, Darcy was moving, as quickly as she'd ever moved, lunging straight in front of Loki to meet the creature's blow herself.

She heard an animalistic shriek from Loki, and felt the full brunt of pain as claws that must have been at least a foot long were plunged into her abdomen. She lurched to the side, feeling illusionary blood start to dribble from her mouth as arms caught her, and then nothing.

* * *

Darcy snapped awake at 3:27 a.m. and flung herself into a sitting position in bed, breathing raggedly, a strange keening noise coming from what she soon realized was her own throat. All at once, long-fingered hands were around her face, and she was being straddled from her seated position by a frantic Loki. She'd never seen him like this, eyes wide with panic, feeling her pulse, tilting her chin this way and that to examine her face, hands moving to fumble across her person and ascertain that she was, in fact, intact.

She wasn't sure which of them was more frightened, and it was several minutes before Loki sat back, hands falling to his lap as he just stared at her. Darcy, too, was uncharacteristically silent, her breathing gradually slowing, her hands wringing on top of the bedcovers gnarled on her lap.

"I don't _even _know, but…" Her hoarse voice broke the silence, and then Darcy sneezed, violently, the movement sending the Nyquil bottle she'd been nursing rolling across the covers. With a croaky noise of disgust, she lunged at it, hurling the offending object into the trashcan across the room with miraculous precision. "Never ever taking that stuff again."

Her hair had cascaded across her face, and she surveyed a still-silent Loki from under the chocolate curtain. He still looked spooked, and she knew he was internally calling himself all sorts of horrible names and taking all the blame ever and condemning himself to an eternity of misery for his actions and the whole self-loathing party he put himself through any time anything happened to her. Paper cuts included.

Sweeping her hair back with one hand, she started to shove at the things she'd hoarded on the bed, sending bottles and books and tissues to the floor. Then she crawled towards him across the covers, tugging him back towards the headboard. He complied with minimal resistance, eyes downcast, and she frowned, poking a single finger at his cheek. "Loookiii."

He looked up, and she smiled brilliantly, the action only slightly marred by a hoarse cough and accompany sniffle session. Moving to snuggle against his side, Darcy pressed a messy kiss to his cheek, hoping he was immune to her sickness, and flung her arms around his neck. "Thanks for helping with the nightmare."

"I did not…I…my fault," he mumbled, pressing his face to the junction between her neck and shoulder. She only tightened the hug, ready to give him a stern admonishment, instead wrenching herself backwards to sneeze strongly. Hands flailing for a tissue, she scrubbed at her nose, glaring at him over the white material.

"Can we make a deal?" His eyes widened, and he adjusted his position, pulling her closer to nestle in against his side again. "Deal…?"

"Don't blame yourself for that whole shebang, 'cause it's over and done with, and I'll be more responsible with my cold medicine." She offered, wishing her voice was stronger than the stuffy sounds she was making. Loki responded with a sigh, stroking her hair back from her face and pressing a lingering kiss to her temple.

"How am I to protect you when you get into trouble in _bed_?" He said softly, letting the question hang in the air. Darcy's mind promptly dove into the gutter, of course, and she elbowed him hastily, chuckling. "Oh, I definitely don't need protection from bed troubles, my knight in green armor!" Her giggles led to another monstrous sneeze, and in the aftermath, she realized her iPod was still replaying its Christmas playlist.

Wrestling out of Loki's grip, Darcy flung out an arm at the device in question, pulling it from the speaker and promptly deleting that particular playlist. "So not in the mood for snow or elves or reindeer or Santa right now." As she leaned back into Loki's embrace, the tourism brochure she'd had in her pocket for days slipped out, and Darcy snatched it up with interest.

Cocking an eyebrow at the trickster next to her, Darcy wiggled it, flapping the brochure in the air between them. "Now you _really _owe me the Viking field trip." Loki rolled his eyes, but Darcy suddenly flung the pamphlet in the direction of her nightstand, pulling the covers to her chin and pressing her face to the hollow of his neck, sighing contentedly. "But not now. Now I want some nice, normal sleep."

He lulled her to sleep with his hands stroking through her locks, somehow knotted like they'd really been tousled by dreamscape winds. Disregarding the shallower things in her life, like food and beauty treatments and finding markdown designer clothes and commercialized holidays and everything else that she _thought _mattered, Darcy drowsily realized that times like this were truly her favorite things.

* * *

**Thanks, as always, for reading. ~Bon**


End file.
